Sound of Silence
by bubblegum-flavored icecream
Summary: The story of yet another angry, power-thirsty hollow who fell prey to Aizen. A young girl's short life in Hueco Mundo. she was one of his finest creations. Summary kinda sucks, I know. Better inside, I promise! R&R to find out!
1. Introduction1

The light was faint in her eyes, as it always had been, ever since she had been born into this cruel world. She feebly looked up at the shining, everlasting beauty of the moon: the sharpest, deadliest silver blade of fate, now falling upon her existence at once. Her lungs could not take all the oxygen that she needed; she felt faint. Her arms lay limply by her side on the white and grey sand, their pale color blinding against the dark tones of her blood. Her legs were bent at an odd angle, so that she could not stand up, much less walk or run. She was lost and she knew it; the end was coming for her after three hundred years.

_Idiot. _

A familiar voice, her own voice, sounded through the darkness that was slowly filling up her mind. She turned her head to the side, a movement which proved surprisingly tiring. There she was again, once again beside her: the exact replica of herself: a white hollow mask with two huge and curved horns, hiding half of her pale face, slightly messy and light pink hair floating on her frail shoulders. She appeared to be very lightly clothed for the cold climate: a small white dress with a black layer on the bottom and a bright green scarf that looked out-of-place were the only things protecting her against the icy wind. She did not seem to mind one bit; her small, lithe body wasn't shivering, nor was her undead skin covered in goose bumps.

Her big violet eyes started nonchalantly at the agonizing girl lying motionless on the sand –the girl that was herself, and yet not herself. She smirked, or rather tried to smirk, for instead of her usual sarcasm and indifference there was genuine love and sadness in her.

_Look where ya've gotten us now_, she said, her lips silent and unmoving but her gaze quietly sending her thought to the dying hollow.

"What… What do ya reckon we do now?" the fallen one replied, half a smile playing on her lips. "What's the new plan?"

_I suppose we can just stay here until we die and some random, lowly hollow comes to_ _feast on us. After all, what other choice do you think we have now? We can't possibly go back. We'd die before we can even manage three steps. We're finished. _

"I know", the other girl said as a tear of hate and regret rolled down her cheek, a salty, translucid little pearl which could do nothing to change the past. "I'm… sorry", she said again with effort. "I knew ya wanted to become strong… the strongest. I… I guess I did stand in your way after all."

The features of the standing girl softened, and as she did so small, almost invisible freckles that decorated her white cheeks appeared in the moonlight. She wasn't ugly, nor was she incredibly beautiful, but what did that matter anymore? She had never particularly cared about her appearance and she was not about to do so now. As the end came, she wanted to feel… happy. Fulfilled, at once, in her long existence. All that fighting, all those battles, all that rage and all that frustration… they were so tiring to her now. She had never felt this exhausted before. Curse the battles, curse the power, curse the blood and the killing, curse the war. She wanted nothing but to rest, at last.

She kneeled down to the girl lying on the sand and put her hand on her shoulder, with a hand that was still strong, that had not yet lost all its power. A soft smile curved her lips.

"You dear, dear imbecile", she spoke out loud in a velvet voice which, for once, didn't announce the start of a battle to the death. "You never were an obstacle for me. How could a person stand in its own way to its ultimate goal?"

The other girl let out a small, throaty laugh and coughed up a crimson flow of blood. As she looked up at her half, there was a glint in her purple orbs.

"H… Happens more than ya think, ya know", she said with a tiny smile. Her body started trembling, and she coughed up blood again.

The other hollow slid her hand down to her wrist before pressing their palms together. As they held their hands tightly they both noticed the other's skin was frigthingly cold and clammy.

_Did ya love him? Want him?_ The kneeling girl thought again. _Or did he just fascinate ya?_

"I don't know, really…" the other girl responded with a shaky laugh. "I guess I… just got kinda lonely, that's all".

_Ya_ _had me._ The simple, short sentence was said, thought, rather, with an accusing tone and maybe some hurt in those empty eyes.

_"…Wasn't that enough?"_ was the unspoken question that should have followed. But the girl did not dare say it nor think it; it was too late, far too late to get into this argument now.

The eyes of the fallen hollow softened and filled up with tears again. She wore the smile on her lips now as she wore the hollow mask that was the symbol of her untamable rage and fury throughout her life in Hueco Mundo. It had been disguise, all fake, fake but sweet, strong and fierce as armor, and definitely better than letting _anyone_ hurt her. She had enjoyed it, a lot. It had been fun.

Then, she heard it. As loud as her voice use to yell in a battle, as loud as her adversaries screamed with pain as their very souls were destroyed.

Her heartbeat. Unbearably slow, unbearably feeble, but yet so loud, pounding in her ears like the Drums of Hell coming to greet her. She smiled ; after all, she was –or rather, had been – the Devil itself, and going to Hell would only be like returning home after a long voyage. The other hollow that was her and yet not her stayed quietly by her side, holding her hand, as quiet as the desert and as still as the night.

_The end is near_, one of them whispered.

"Let it come", the other replied, closing her eyes.

The drums of Hell kept on beating, getting weaker and weaker by the second.


	2. Introduction2

Within the total obscurity of the Menos Forest, a cry of pain and anger was heard. The trees themselves seemed to tremble with the intensity of it. There was no doubting it: the Devil itself must be walking among the dust of the Forest; there could be no other monster than it to produce –or cause—such an inhumane scream… even among hollows.

At the very center of the damned woods, a great gray snake slithered on the ground. Its long, sliding body was covered in blood, its ugly head looking down on another creature in front of him.

It was a huge scorpion, completely white from its demonic head to its deadly tail. A single bright green stripe decorated its neck. Its eyes were a deep violet, and reflected nothing but hate and fury. It was badly wounded as well, but in a slightly better shape than the great gray snake. It was that horrific scorpion that had screamed that terrible scream, for it felt an unbearable pain in its veins, bubbling up in its carapace until it had needed to get out in the form of a cry. The snake had poisoned it, before it had time to inject its own deadly blood into its enemy's body.

But there was no need to lament. The snake was finished. The scorpion lunged at its neck one last time and, with one clean, neat chop of its claws, the head of the serpent slid of the rest of its body and landed and the dry earth beneath it, raising a cloud of dust into the air.

Yet another enemy down… Yet another step closer to evolving. It wanted to evolve more than anything, desired the feeling of power that she would feel by accomplishing it, yearned for strength above all else. The scorpion would become Queen of the Forest, the most feared and most admired hollow in those detestable woods. And soon, it'd be able to leave that hated place behind to head for Las Noches. It had heard of the great Aizen-sama, and the strange rumor of his ability to give power to hollows, turning them into smarter, better creatures.

The scorpion stepped closer to its enemy's huge carcass, and lowered its head to feed on the fallen serpent.


	3. Chapter 1

Picar was fighting, fighting with boredom, a thing which she hated. As she was walking in the Menos Forest, looking for new preys, the prey had come to her as a deer ran towards a hunter; she had been surrounded by a group of five or four crazed-looking Shinigamis, and would have laughed if she'd had had the time to, for she thought the situation to be very comical indeed. Five so-called warriors dressed in black rags, yelling and charging at her with glinting eyes, as if they believed they would get out of this battle victorious!

The white scorpion, the Queen of the Menos Forest, had evolved from a "lowly", animal-like creature to a young teenage girl. Her skin was still as white as her previous appearance, and her limbs looked as thin and frail as she was fast and strong. A white mask covered a portion of her face, including one of her huge, round and deep violet eyes, and a part of her thick, pink hair, which floated around her little shoulders. She was dressed simply in a dust and sand-colored long cape to protect herself from the sharp winds of the Hollow world, with no visible armour. She didn't need one though; her short, thin and extremely sharp-bladed sword, which she held tightly in her hand at all times, was more than enough to fend off any potential enemy. Her only rule was to anticipate all attacks. Kill or be killed. She couldn't get more powerful if she was dead. So she cut down and buried everyone in her path. She was always the attacker.

Not this time, though. This time, the Shinigamis had actually attacked her first. She had sensed their reiatsu, but figured they weren't worth killing since they were all so weak and tired. She could tell that they weren't at their best. As she swatted them away with her sword, they were falling down one by one, helpless and, to her eyes, boring as hell.

"Be careful! She's right behind y-", one of them tried to alert his comrade, before collapsing himself on the dusty ground of the forest floor, completely limp.

Picar stared at the corpses around her. Numerous cuts riddled her arms and legs, but she didn't worry about them one bit. Her eyes held nothing but disdain in them. She waved her sword swiftly and turned away from them.

_There was something just then. _

She became as rigid as a statue. There was another presence. Someone had actually survived; surprisingly, she wasn't as upset as just amazed. Whoever the survivor was must be an interesting adversary. She turned around swiftly.

The black silhouette of a young-looking, red-haired Shinigami was laid on the forest floor. One of his legs was cut deeply, and blood poured freely from the large wound. He winced from the pain. His golden eyes looked tired and strained, but not completely dull yet. He still had some energy left in him.

"Well", Picar thought to herself, "if he has enough energy to live, then he has enough energy to fight". And with a smirk on her lips she narrowed her eyes and lifted her sword.

"My, my", she chided playfully to the fallen warrior. "What do we have here?"

The Shinigami glared hatefully at her. She saw his fingers curl tightly around his zanpaktou. He winced again, but bit back a gasp of pain as he lifted himself up on his feet again, his weight softly trembling on his bleeding leg.

"You will pay for what you did to them", he spoke, and his voice was strained. "I'll kill you with my own blade –even if I fail, my comrades will come for you soon".

Picar sneered and threw back the pink mane of her hair. This Shinigami was so naïve; it was almost cute how he believed so much in his little "friends".

"Your _comrades_ will come soon?" she repeated in mock worry. "Well, then, I guess I better fall down to my knees and start begging for your forgiveness, don't I? How many of them are left, Shinigami? Judging by what feeble reiatsu I'm sensing, there shouldn't be more than one or two still able to fight, let alone bring me down. And do you really think I'll patiently wait for them to come find me? I'll get to them first".

The Shinigami tightened his hold on his puny weapon again. Picar raised her sword higher, preparing for battle herself. She took one step closer to her enemy. A little pool of blood had formed on the dirt underneath his feet.

"And I don't expect _you_ to be able to kill me, either", she spat scornfully, all trace of a smile gone from her face. She tried to put all the hate and anger she could on her expression, right before she raised her blade high, high above her head. With one swift gesture, she then threw the point of the sharp blade into the ground, as hard as she could. The sword sank in, slowly, gracefully.

The delightful feeling of power came to her again, the one that always filled her during her _Resurrecion_. She was pretty sure she didn't need it to defeat the Shinigami, but she wanted more than to destroy him. She wanted to make him fear her, to the point that even a noble and dignified warrior such as himself would show his fear on his face.

When she opened her eyes again, the black and white colors were sharper, the wind colder, and the ground harder. Every one of her senses was heightened. Her lower legs were covered with armour of hard, white bone. It covered her back too, a shield of sharp, deadly spikes. Her pink mane had grown from her shoulders to her ankles, and it flowed freely around her like rose-colored flames. Along with her hands, huge but swift poisonous claws protruded from her wrists. Her sword had separated into two, ten-bladed knives.

Picar smirked again at the look of horror and amazement in the Shinigami eyes. The poor warrior swallowed with difficulty, but managed to keep a calm, steady voice as he asked:

"What… What is this?"

"This…" she gestured proudly to her white armour, "is my _Resurrecion_. Impressive, isn't it? You'll like it even better when it's ripping your soul to shreds".

The Shinigami furrowed his brows, and raised his zanpaktou.

"You do not scare me, Hollow", he spat with hatred. "You are the reason the human world and the Soul Society are in chaos. Today I will put you back in your place".

Picar let out a half-appreciative, half-sarcastic smile. Her violet eyes sparkled.

"Not bad for a lowly Shinigami", she recognized. "Well, then, show me what you've got".

The Shinigami scowled before charging at her, his sword clenched tightly in his fists.

Beatrice Picar was at her knees on the forest floor. Her hair stuck to her face, her legs and arms were riddled with even more cuts than before, but her smile was victorious and her knives were drawn. In front of her, the Shinigami was almost splayed flat on the forest floor, panting loudly. A large gash spread across his chest, tainting the black fabric of his Shinigami uniform with a crimson liquid. It had the shape of a flower, but Picar wouldn't have noticed it. She had never known flowers, after all.

The Shinigami coughed up blood again.

"Why… are you… not dead?" he spoke, in a voice that was barely even a whisper.

"Sorry… to disappoint you", Picar answered, her voice a little strained too, but her smile still in place and not one trace of worry in her mind. She knew she had won the battle. The fatal blow had been delivered a long time ago… before their little duel had even started, actually.

She raised herself to her feet. The cuts in her legs slowly started to heal themselves. Her "high-speed" regeneration was not very strong, compared to her other abilities. She couldn't have cared less about it, though; she didn't need the ability to regenerate.

"You see", she started explaining, "when you start a battle with me, it's already established you're gonna lose. Don't feel too bad, though; you've lasted pretty long compared to the others. Congratulations".

She walked over to him and gazed down at him. Her smile disappeared and was replaced by a solemn expression. She forced him to raise his chin up with the point of her sword, cutting shallowly into his skin and causing a few scarlet pearls to appear.

"The moment you cut into me, your death sentence is established", she continued. "The moment you inhale the scent of my blood, or come in contact with it, you are poisoned to your very core. It doesn't matter how much you inhale or touch; it is always fatal. The only possible cure would be a blood like my own… only thing is I'm a unique one."

Then she saw the expression she was waiting for on the Shinigami face. A look of despair, of hatred, of shame, of fear too.

"Of all the creatures I've fought, I actually respect you", she spoke softly and sincerely. "Tell me your name, Shinigami".

He looked at her blankly, then said:

"A… Ashid… Ashido".

He couldn't speak more; he coughed up a new flow of blood, and when he looked up at her, the hatred and anger was back in his eyes.

"Y… You poor… c-creature", he spoke with difficulty. "H… How I… I p-pity you."

His last word was spat, and out with it came a few drops of blood. Picar's eyes widened and she felt her own blood boil in her veins. Blind with rage and fury, she raised her sword again and struck him, again, and again, and again. Her arms and legs ached, and something stung horribly at the back of her eyes; her eyelashes felt strangely humid. She screamed as loudly as she could.

"I hate you! I hate you!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "Don't you pity me, you rotten Shinigami! Do you hear me, you stupid, _noble_ bastard! I _forbid_ you, and EVERYONE else, to pity me, you do not have this right, you do not have _any_ reason to pity someone as powerful as me, do you hear me, you weak, good-for-nothing worms? I hate you! I hate you, and I pity you! I take back my words, it was a lie, I do not have one ounce of respect for you! You are not worthy of my respect, you are scum! Do you hear me, Shinigami?"

But he could not hear her anymore: his body lay across the dirt, lifeless and limp as a doll. If he was not dead yet, he would be very soon. And his "friends" would come search for him soon. She would not let them get to her first.

Picar set out to find the rest of the Shinigamis. She could not stop the rage inside her belly, the fury in her head, the fire in her veins. She would not let anyone ever utter those words to her again, never again.

But the voice of the fallen Shinigami kept sounding again and again in her head, and once again she saw those deep, tired, golden eyes and those hated words.

_You poor creature. How I pity you. _


End file.
